CHAPTER FOUR
Sam didn't know it, but he was lucky that the Impala was talking to me. She stopped me from trying to kill him.
Okay. Maybe that's a little extreme. But she did convince me that it was okay when he took the keys off the counter. I'll make sure he doesn't put us in a ditch. I promise I'll take care of him, she said when I reared out of bed ready to send a fist into my brother's face. I threw the punch anyway, but he was a hell of a lot faster than me in my concussed state, and he easily caught my wrist. "Relax, Dean," he said calmly, and pushed me back. "I've gotta go out for a bit. I won't be long."
"If you wreck my Baby," I snarled, "I will feed your guts to the skinwalker. And I will laugh."
That's a little harsh, don't you think? I told you. I'm not gonna let him do anything stupid.
I bared my teeth.
"I'll leave the chains on," Sam said, dropping my wrist. "Try and get some rest and I'll be back before you know it."
I don't want to leave either, Dean, but I can't justify leaving him stranded, not now. That 'walker is still out there and we've gotta try to find it.
The Impala was right. I huffed air through my nose. "Drive. Slowly." The words were spat through clenched teeth. Sam pocketed the keys, pursed his lips with a nod, and slunk out of the room.
In the three hours he was gone, I found out just how fucking bored I was. The docs had banned me from doing literally everything entertaining on account of my head injury. Play around on the tablet? Nope. Phone? Don't even look at the screen. TV? Sure, but not for very long. (Nothing good on during the day anyway, so I decided to save my allotted time for the nighttime programs.) They wouldn't even let me have a newspaper. Apparently, focusing on anything like that wasn't good for my head. I don't know. That's what they made it sound like.
All I knew is that I couldn't wait to get the hell out of Dodge.
So, here's what I managed to accomplish: I found patterns in the ceiling tiles. Then I graduated to the wood grain on the cabinets on the opposite wall. Then I got up and sat on the window seat until I couldn't feel my ass and my eyes hurt from staring through the slats of the blinds into the parking lot. The clock drove me insane. I found some soap and a towel in the bathroom tucked in the corner of the room. The nurse told me I could shower as long as I didn't get my head wet. (Damn sutures. I was tempted to take my pocketknife to them.) So I showered. The hot water felt fantastic. When I got out, I didn't bother with the gown again, and just wrapped myself up in three layers of blankets and parked as close to the heater as I could get, and that was where Sam found me.
"Took me an hour to get into town," he grumped as he shouldered the door open, several bags in hand. "Can you believe there was traffic in this weather? People were actually driving."
The Impala commiserated. It's official, Coloradans are crazy. There's three feet of snow on the ground and they're just trucking right along. I didn't see one rear-wheel drive car out there aside from me, though… I was thinking, Dean. How would you feel about putting me on a Blazer chassis?
"Blazer chassis?" The words were out before I remembered that I probably shouldn't do that.
Sam didn't say 'what the fuck, Dean' out loud, but his eyes sure did.
Yeah! I need me some four-wheel drive. How cool would that be? No, wait, don't answer that. Shh. I'll stop talking now.
Flustered, I gave a weak smile and pushed a hand through my hair. Sam cocked an eyebrow, and he stared at me for a long, tense moment. I could feel his scrutiny. "Dean… you're not wearing clothes, are you?"
Glad for the change of subject, I frowned and pulled the blankets tighter around my body "That gown is not my color, man."
Sam rolled his eyes and dumped the duffel bag he'd lugged in onto the ground. "I brought your sweats. Get dressed." He kicked out a chair and sat down, unloading the plastic grocery bags from his arms onto the table. I leaned down, blinking as the blood rushed to my damaged head and shifted gravity, and waited for it to pass before I started pawing through the duffel bag he'd dragged in.
"You doing better?"
"Sure," I clipped, dragging my clothes into my arms. Figured I probably shouldn't strip out in the open, so I backed into the bathroom and shut the door and make quick work of changing. A black V-neck tee and a pair of gray sweatpants did the trick, but I was still cold, so I picked up the blankets again and took my place on the window seat.
"Here." Sam handed me a cup of something warm.
I lifted the lid and sniffed, narrowing my eyes. "Hot chocolate? Where's my coffee?"
"No caffeine for you. Sorry." He sipped his coffee like the smug bitch he was.
Ah, well. I wasn't one to turn down a cup of anything sugary, so I drank it anyway. "What'd you find out?" I asked around the rim of the cup, and realized that yeah, it was actually pretty good.
"Where should I start? What happened a century and a half ago, or what happened a few hours ago?" Sam sat back and rifled through the grocery bags, pulling out one of those boxed salads. "Hungry? I brought you a sandwich." He withdrew something wrapped in paper and waved it at me.
I caught the underhanded throw and began to fuss with the wrapper. "The skinwalker's been around that long? I thought the attacks started last week."
"Started again last week," Sam said, stirring some gooey dressing into the leaves of his salad. "I wandered into the welcome center and talked with the guy manning the front desk for a good half hour. I guess I didn't dig deep enough during my first round of research. That skinwalker has been tearing people apart since the early twentieth century. Here." He slapped a folder onto the table and plucked a photocopied picture from inside. "Check this out. Does that horse in the back look familiar?"
I took the photo from him and looked hard at it. It was a messy copy of what was obviously an ancient picture of a group of haggard-looking men in front of what I assumed was a mining site. I angled it so the light would reflect off the ink, and sure enough, there he was, the son of a bitch that nailed me in the head and put me in the hospital. I'd recognize that silvery coat and massive hooves anywhere.
"No shit?" I breathed. "That's our guy, isn't it?"
"I'd put money on it." My brother pressed his elbows onto his knees, phone in hand. "That photo was taken in 1854 at a now-defunct mine up the mountain a ways. According to history center guy, there have been at least a dozen reports of fatal attacks by this 'phantom stallion' in the area over the past century. I'm still trying to work out a pattern, see if I can't guess where he's gonna hit next, but Dean, we've really gotta watch our backs on this one."
"Why's that?" I put the picture to the side and studied him warily.
Sam got right to it: "I think he's hunting us."
I raised both eyebrows. "Hunting us?"
"Yep. A few hours ago, the 'phantom stallion' turned up again." Sam swiped a few times at his phone, the light flickering over his face, his brow furrowing as he scanned whatever he was looking at. "Here we go. Somebody reported that they saw a rabid horse tearing up a car parked in a driveway. Just absolutely demolishing it." He gave me a worried look, and my heart skipped a beat in nervousness.
I'm fine! I'm fine, the Impala supplied quickly.
Only mildly relieved, I exhaled. "So… you think it's after us because it tore up a car?"
"It was a 1969 Cadillac Coupe de Ville, and it was black." Sam's words rode the tail end of mine, and I fell silent, my sandwich forgotten.
De Ville? Shit, Dean. Those kinda look like me. Think about it: you don't get a real good look at me and then see a de Ville later, same color, you might make a mistake…
"Son of a bitch," I breathed, glancing towards the now-open window. I could see Baby at the far end of the lot, nestled close to a massive snowbank under an outcropping of evergreen trees. "It's trying to find the Impala."
Maybe I should hide.
"No, Baby. I've gotta keep an eye on you." I hadn't realized I was speaking out loud to the Impala until Sam's fork hit the table. When I looked over at him, he had his face shoved into his hands and was scrubbing wearily at his temples. After a minute, he raised his face again, cheeks flushed red from the vigorous rubbing, and shook himself out. I straightened up and resumed working on the sandwich.
I cleared my throat, washed down my mouthful with some hot chocolate, and nodded to Sam. "I think our best bet would be to check out the mine in the morning," I said, dragging the back of my hand across my lips. Sam just stared at me, his face drawn with concern, but I pretended he wasn't giving me that look like he thought I was jacked up in the head. "We'll roll out the second I'm released." I brightened up at the possibility – I was going stir-crazy just sitting here in the hospital waiting for something to happen, and the thought of tracking down the son of a bitch was thrilling. Couldn't wait to crack that equine skull.
But my brother was standing now, his arms folded over his chest, and I didn't like his expression. "I'm not counting on you being cleared by then."
Saw this one coming.
I slapped my bare feet onto the ground and rose to meet my younger brother. He was a full head taller than me, and damn it if I'll admit he was a little bit intimidating now that he'd drawn himself up to his full height, but I didn't back down. "They told me I'd be cleared tomorrow morning, so you bet your sorry ass I'm walking out of here tomorrow morning."
"Dean—"
"Don't do this to me, Sammy." The blood was rushing to my head, making my stitched wound throb and my vision blur. I ignored it.
"You've been acting strange since that thing kicked you," Sam said sternly.
I cut him off. "I always act strange."
"Not like this, Dean. You're talking to the car. That's bad enough. But now you've been carrying out conversations like it's actually responding to you, Dean. That is not normal."
"Because she is!" The words were out before I could think better of them. Breathing hard with frustration, I ducked past Sam and stuffed my feet into my boots that waited by the foot of the bed, not even bothering with the laces. "I'm not making it up. I can hear her, Sammy! Something clicked when I got hit in the head but I can hear her!"
Bad idea, Dean. Bad idea.
I whipped towards the window like she could see me. "You don't think he needs to know? Why the hell not?"
Before the Impala had a chance to respond, my brother spoke up. "That's what I mean – what are you doing? Go sit down!" Sam growled and watched as I spun around in search of my jacket. Found it draped over a chair and threw it across my shoulders.
"We're going on a walk," I snapped. "Get your coat on."
He didn't move.
"Get your damn coat on, Sam. Or freeze your ass off. I don't care." Picking at the bandage taped to my forehead with a thumb, I headed for the door. I was sick of this. Sick of sitting around, sick of the pain, sick of my brother's concern. Sam wanted to keep me here? Fine. But I wasn't giving in without a fight. He'd see. He'd see I wasn't lying about the Impala. He'd have to.
"Dean…?"
I turned up the collar on my jacket with a furious flick of the wrists. "You and me. Right now. We're gonna go outside, and I'm gonna prove to you that I'm not making this crap up. You're getting a formal introduction to our living Impala."
